


Ache

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Masturbation, Sam In Panties, Sam is underage, clothes sniffing kink, they don't actually have sex together though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 11:34:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4433996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There weren’t really a lot of constants in his life, but Dean always smelled like Dean. He’d been using that cheap ‘Aqua Velva’ aftershave since Sam could remember, and any time they staid somewhere that wasn’t a motel he picked up ‘Irish Springs’ soap. He smelled like salt and gasoline too, like the leather of his jacket that used to be Dad’s and Sam wasn’t going to think too hard about that either.  Sam’s cock was so fucking hard it hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ache

Sam double checked the door locks. Made sure the salt lines were straight. Pulled the curtains shut. Turned off the lights. Dean was out working a bartending job he’d managed to find in a few days, but that was really no surprise with his glib tongue and his pretty face. They were most likely going to stay here for at least a few months if Dean had a job and Dad had rented a small studio apartment. Honestly it was probably smaller than some of the extended stay Inn’s they’d been to. There were no bedrooms, just one room with a line of cabinets for a kitchenette, plus the bathroom. The three of them shared a pull out couch and a bed. Although, Dad and Dean were both gone a lot so two places to sleep were sufficient. Tonight, Sam knew where Dean was. Fuck knows where Dad was. 

After pacing the length of the room a few times, Sam flopped down on the pull out couch. That was where Dean had been sleeping the past few weeks. Although it still smelled faintly of must and mildew, Dean’s smell was seeping in to the fibers and Sam could pretend like it was his brother’s body impression that had sunk down the middle of the couch. 

Curling around a rumpled up plaid shirt – classic red pattern - Sam propped one leg on the arm of the couch because it was way too short for him and tucked the other up closer to his chest as he fit tertris like in an awkward fold around the shirt. Burying his nose in it, Sam clutched the soft worn flannel and inhaled. There weren’t really a lot of constants in his life, but Dean always smelled like Dean. He’d been using that cheap ‘Aqua Velva’ aftershave since Sam could remember, and any time they staid somewhere that wasn’t a motel he picked up ‘Irish Springs’ soap. He smelled like salt and gasoline too, like the leather of his jacket that used to be Dad’s and Sam wasn’t going to think too hard about that either. 

Sam’s cock was so fucking hard it hurt. 

Shifting his hips, cock tight in the pair of cotton panties he wore, Sam humped down against the couch where his brother slept while he buried in face in Dean’s shirt. The panties weren’t really so much his thing. He didn’t mind wearing them. But he didn’t really see the appeal. It was all right though, Dean had worn this shirt for weeks before giving it to Sam, Sam could give Dean something too. The panties weren’t fancy, just white cotton with patterned blue roses and the tiniest little bow in the middle of the waist. 

Sam wondered where Dean had gotten them, but he probably didn’t want to know. He knew how often Dean spent time after work – before and during work – with women and men who were strangers. Even if Dean fucked them, they’d be strangers, because he wouldn’t remember their names - or their jobs or the cars they drove or the number of their apartments - by the time Dean had picked up the next one. Dean fucked a lot of people. Sam didn’t really understand it that well. How easy it was for Dean to just do that. Sometimes it hurt to think what his brother needed so bad out of just a few hours of touching another person, being touched. Sam didn’t want that, he didn’t want stranger’s hands on his body, giving something like that to people he didn’t care about. All he wanted was Dean. 

Sam didn’t begrudge his brother a sex life. It was obvious Dean wasn’t interested in him. Or he was… but it was complicated. Sam wasn’t as naïve and innocent as Dean might like to thing. He got it, he did, because this tremulous thing between them still separated by a threadbare blanket of something like shame or guilt, Sam wasn’t too sure how to poke holes in that layer between them. Wasn’t too sure if he wanted to because he knew he wouldn’t be able to patch it back up after if it ripped too much. 

This was close enough. This was good enough. Flipping on to his back, Sam squirmed in to the shirt to pull it around his lanky frame. Around the neck, it smelled more like Dean’s aftershave. In the underarms, it smelled deep and sour of body odor. At the small of the back was the best patch of salt sweat small that Sam loved. At the cuffs of the sleeve a little trace of the copper sharp smell of blood and the sludge of oil lingered. Sam surrounded himself in these smells, in the comfort of the familiarity of his brother in an unfamiliar apartment and in an unfamiliar life. 

Sliding his hand into the panties, Sam angled his cock to the side so it still rubbed underneath the fabric smearing precome into the fiber as he jacked off, head crooked down to nuzzle against the collar of the old plaid shirt. He always tried to make it last, and he always failed. His brother’s scent heady surrounding him, it was easy to conjure up sense memories of the strength of Dean’s hands against his shoulders, the heave of Dean’s body wrestling, the warmth of Dean’s skin under the sun. It didn’t take long at all before Sam was coming thick and messy into the panties. 

-

Sam woke with a start when he heard the front door lock click. He’d fallen asleep after masturbating, woke up several hours later with the panties glued to his fucking skin with come - and that was a bitch to get off - then changed and fell back asleep on the couch in pajama pants, still wearing Dean’s plaid shirt. Now he woke up again and the light was searing around the edges of the curtains as Dean kicked off his shoes. He was blinking sleepily but there was a cocky smile pulling at his lips. 

“Mornin’ Sammy.”

Sam grumbled and pushed himself up, rubbing his eyes as he watched Dean moving over to the kitchen area and pulling open the fridge. 

Yawning and pushing off the couch to move towards Dean, leaning against the counter, Sam watched his ass wiggle tauntingly in tight jeans. “You have a good night?”

“Oh I had a very good night. You want breakfast?”

Dean emerged from the fridge with a hunk of cheese and a carton of eggs.

“Sure. Yeah. I – uh …”

God it was so awkward doing this. After Dean had set the food down, looking at Sam with an impatient unspoken ‘spit it out’, Sam pulled the used panties out of his pajama pocket and shoved them towards his brother. He could feel the heat under his cheeks and he couldn’t look Dean in the eyes, but Sam still caught the way Dean’s pink tongue darted out along the bottom of his plump lips, just a flick, just a second unguarded as he reached out and took the offering from Sam.

“You gonna give me my shirt back too?”

The shirt was open, Sam’s chest bare, his bony hips poking out above the waist of his grey pajama pants.

“S’comfy.”

“Yeah, an’ it’s gonna smell like you now.”

Sam shrugged, pulling the shirt closed. Dean stuffed the panties in the pocket of his jeans. Cocked his hip against the counter, folded his arms over his chest. He was a mix of hard and soft Sam could spend all day puzzling about. The soft curve of his cheek, the hard bulge of his muscled arms, the soft skin of his hairless chest, the hard line of his cock that Sam loved to see when he teased his brother. 

Dean held out an arm and made a gesture like ‘give it over’. Sam sighed and shrugged out of the shirt, putting his hands on his hips. His body was whipcord lean muscle, frame narrow and gangly. 

Dean made a purposeful show of it now, of smelling the shirt they’d both worn. He had stuffed the panties in his pocket immediately like a dirty little secret, but he stared straight at Sam with green eyes lit up as he pressed his nose to the shirt and inhaled. Sam could feel his cock twitch, just watching his brother, just thinking about Dean thinking about him. 

“Y’know, I need to work on Baby some, give her a tune up. M’sure in this heat it’d be sweaty work. You wanna help this weekend when I’m off work?”

Sam’s voice still cracked sometimes and it was so stupidly embarrassing how it pitched up when he blurted out, “God yes.” 

-

Dean double checked the door locks. Made sure the salt lines were straight. Pulled the curtains shut. Turned off the lights. It was late in the evening and still light outside but the sky was starting to dim. Light seeped around the edges of the curtains hazy and yellow in the stale air of the small attic apartment. Sam was off at a new friend’s house for some school project that they were having a sleep over to work on. Knowing the dork, they would probably actually be working on school most of the night. And Dad was off doing, whatever it was he did. 

Dean had his suspicions. It wasn’t hard to guess why a grown man would need some alone time from his two young sons. If it wasn’t research for a hunt or traveling to help out another group of hunters – and Dad always told Dean when that was – then the vague excuses that Dad was putting less and less effort in to giving really couldn’t cover up what Dean knew the man was up to. At least he didn’t have to see it anymore. Didn’t have to see a pretty woman hanging off his Dad’s arms pushing her cleavage together and smiling sickly sweet up at him. Didn’t have to see the gentle smiles and honeyed words his gruff father could give for a long set of legs and fragrant skin. 

It twisted up something inside him, made little rips along the edges fraying and fraying, when Dean had to hold his shoulders straight and hold his weapon tight and hold his words back, good son good hunter, and the only thing he could expect from his father was hardness. He didn’t like seeing how soft his dad could be for women that didn’t deserve him, for strangers that shouldn’t mean anything to him. They shouldn’t mean more than his kids, even if Dean was old enough to work and take care of Sam for however long Dad needed for himself.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, Dean sunk onto the bed with a groan and wriggled out of his clothes. Sam slept on the bed most nights. It smelled like him, a thin layer over the smell of the strangers that had staid in this shit hole of a ‘furnished’ studio apartment before them, but it smelled like Sam too. Sam had just started growing enough peach fuzz to warrant shaving. He absolutely refused to use any of the soap and aftershave that Dean did. After Dean had taught him how to shave, Sam was adamant on getting his own stuff. Dean could understand that. Could appreciate it. They shared a lot of smells in the small space of their lives, gasoline and salt, but Sam had his own smells too. 

Naked on his brother’s bed, Dean draped the plaid flannel shirt over Sam’s pillow that they’d both worn, smelling like it’s own thing, like them, like how they might smell if they let themselves grow even closer getting all tangled up in each other. But even better than the shirt, and fuck knows why, Dean nosed at the used pair of panties Sam had given back to him. The cotton was stiff and crusted with his semen and it should be gross – honestly Dean doesn’t know if he’d get in to this from anyone but Sam – and he’s so fucking hard in his own hand his cock drips precome like a drooling dog begging for a treat. 

Now this – the used panties - is overwhelmingly potently Sam, thick body odor and sour sweat enough of a smell he can taste it on the back of his tongue and it makes him drool to think of Sam’s cock on the back of his tongue, where Dean can smell-taste him, wants to hold him there and swallow everything his brother has to offer. Wants it in him, part of him. And that is so not going to happen. For how many lines they’ve crossed lately, he will not lay a hand on his underage brother. It’s the underage part that really sticks like an oil stain in his mind. Not so much the brother part. He’s given up caring about how many ways he wants his brother. Hand stripping his cock, inhaling the smell of his brother’s body off the panties like someone desperate for a high huffing paint, he thinks about Sam wearing these panties for him, his cock stuffed in the tiny girly things.

It was probably pretty fucked up that Dean had gotten these panties from a girl he’d fucked. It wasn’t like he meant to. He hadn’t stole them or anything. Several states back, there’d been a pretty little brunette with big doe eyes that barely came up to his chest and she was feisty. They’d fucked in the back of the Impala. Dean found her cute flower pattern panties underneath the seat several weeks after they’d split town. The panties still smelled like her. He couldn’t help thinking how sweet that little bow would look on Sam’s flat tummy. What they’d smell like if Sam used them and left them for Dean. So he washed them, and when his brother kept sneaking Dean’s dirty shirts like he was oh so clever and Dean would never figure out what he was doing, well then Dean wanted something from Sam if Sam was gonna get something from him. 

It wasn’t like Dean thought Sam was too young to have sex. Dean’d stuck his dick in a lot of things as a teenager, from the ripe old age of thirteen when he cashed his V-card in to a high schooler who always hung around the mini mart in a tube top begging smokes off older guys who only wanted a grope in payment. Dean had made more than his fair share of mistakes even though he didn’t regret any of them. But the thing was, he could always drive away, move on, leave those mistakes behind. Sam was stuck with him. Dean didn’t want to be a regret his brother couldn’t leave behind. Or maybe, he didn’t want to be a regret that Sam _could_ leave behind. Either way, masturbating in a pair of panties for your older brother was somehow a lesser offense, and Dean could allow it. 

The hot deep gut curdle of shame wasn’t really anything new, and in it’s own strange way Dean was starting to get turned on just at the tingle of wrongness that sharpened his senses and made him desperate. Clenching the dirty panties in his teeth to stifle his groan, dried come turning tacky and gummy with spit, Dean spattered his belly with come and made sure some hit the bed where Sam slept.

Heaving for breath, shaking as he came back down to earth and what he was doing, Dean felt like a wild animal caught in a trap - the more it struggles the more damage it does to itself. His ankle might be stuck in a bear-snap, but he wasn’t about to be gnawing off his leg to remove it. Nah. He could live with the ache.


End file.
